


So the cat plays a trumpet

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [19]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: A kittykit is involved, Drabble, M/M, Musical Notes as a Literal Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern





	So the cat plays a trumpet

Wilson was cooing at something.

Well, it sounded like cooing anyway. Always hard to tell when it came to trumpets, especially loud ones.

He wasn't being particularly loud right now, however. Maxwell glanced over, squinting at the other man from across his small, weather worn camp. The spring rains haven't been particularly gentle this season, and the humidity made his suit sticky and itch with its steady rise in heat, made everything in his campsite look dampened and soggy. It didn't improve his mood all that much either, and when he was alone it couldn't be said that he hasn't kicked around a few sodden items and grumbled loudly to himself.

His tent, currently collapsed into a pile of threadbare fabric and old sticks, was testament to his, er, unhappiness with everything.

It wasn't his fault that it was old and on its last legs, but it was certainly his fault that he now had to make a new one. To be fair, he hadn't known it would fall like that.

One measly little knock against it shouldn't have made it fall over so easily. He was sure it could have taken even worse, but the spring season seems to have it out for him this year.

That last encounter with the beefalo, of which he had most certainly kept a fair distance from, attested to that. Everything seemed to want him to be miserable as of late.

Besides the scientist.

Maybe. He had arrived loudly trumpeting and generally making a racket an hour or so ago, and hasn't done a thing to aid Maxwell in fixing his tent. All the man seemed to want to do was mess with the science machine that Maxwell himself had no use for, that Wilson had constructed a while ago and for no particular reason, and mutter to himself in his high pitched, rambling song.

Not that Maxwell minded the softer music, he's been in silence with only his own throaty mumbles to hear as of late. He wouldn't admit it, but he hasn't been visited in awhile and perhaps he had been getting a little lonely.

And a little off kilter, as evident by his busted tent and the fact that he had stopped trying to make a mass grave for his own corpses and instead resorted to just hauling them off a cliffside instead. No need to let everyone on this blasted island know exactly just how many times he's died so far due to his own mistakes.

Easily avoidable mistakes too. Shadow clones were not good company.

Maxwell turned back to the ropes in his hands, ignoring Wilson and whatever he was doing over there, science and whatnot. His tent needed to be fixed, though now that he thought about it perhaps a lean to would be better suited. 

He'd have to get better supplies for that, however, more things he'd have to add to the steadily growing list of what he needed to do. Maxwell grumbled darkly to himself, lower pitched notes and strings as he picked up one end of the sodden tent fabric and lifted it up to see the soaked ground underneath it. He's let it sit like this for too long, and now it will take longer for it to dry. The next rain would end up upon him long before he could even set a new tent down.

The lean to idea may be his only option then.

Not what he wanted to spend his time doing, Maxwells face drooping and gritting his teeth in displeasure. Why did everything have to be so damn taxing as of late?

A sudden high pitched whistle of musical noise caught his attention, looking around in surprise for a moment before he realized it was just Wilson. The man was looking over at him, looked a lot happier with everything than he did at the moment, and with a tilt of his head Wilson sung out more trumpet, obviously calling him over.

Maxwell frowned at him, thought about ignoring him because the scientist wasn't helping him at all, wasn't at all aware of the many, many things Maxwell now had to do before the next rain, but Wilson was rather insistant and the look he was giving him was rather…

Cheerful looking, even under all that scruff. He'd rather not think about the fact that the man actually looked very bright at the moment, shining eyes and all, but the fact of the matter was that Maxwell hasn't seen him since who knows how long and maybe, even under his spiteful want to ignore everything and continue to be gloomy and grumpy, maybe he did want a little company.

Even if he was still very much in a foul mood.

With a very loud, exaggerated sigh and roll of his eyes, still frowning deeply at the other man and very much attempting to look irritated and unhappy, Maxwell left the ropes and tent fabric to soak in the mud to make his way over with a low rumbling of sound in his chest. Passing the science machine, noting the new addition of a few levers and odds and ends, he folded his arms and loomed down at the crouching scientist.

Wilson didn't seem to care that Maxwell was very obviously doing something important and that he didn't, in fact, want to be interrupted in his moping. With a few notes of cheery trumpet sound, the shorter man stood up and turned to face him, hands holding something carefully.

That was-

Maxwell squinted at the blob of grey and black, huge rounded eyes blinking slowly up at him from the scientists arms.

That was a cat. No wait, catcoon. The stripes and white, pupiless eyes were a dead give away.

And a small, underdeveloped one too. The overly large ears and fuzzy long tail spoke of its youth all too well.

Maxwell frowned at the thing as it looked up at him, flicking one of its oversized ears, its tiny, racoon like paws holding onto Wilson tightly. The man's own claws were carefully curled in a way as to prevent hurting the small creature, and Maxwell huffed out a low, deep string of sound, glaring at the tiny vermin.

Why the hell was this thing in his camp? Wilson couldn't have carried it all the way over here, it would have squirmed out of his grip at some point or made a fuss, and Maxwell was sure it wouldn't have just left its parents just to end up here. He wasn't even that close to the birchnut forest! It would have been quite the trip, especially as something as small and vulnerable as a tiny cat creature.

Wilson whistled more sound, raised the catcoon up into a better position as he adjusted his arms under it, claws still careful and slow even as it wiggled its own paws and blinked up at the both of them. The man sounded light and airy, musical voice not as piercing as usual. Maxwell chanced a look at the other man's face, hoping he'd not see what he expected to see.

He was out of luck. Wilson was enthralled with the furry beast.

He voiced his displeasure, turning away and standing tall, not even giving the small creature a lasting glance. Maxwell didn't like cats.

They clawed and hissed and shed their fur, pooped everywhere and slept everywhere and were a general nuisance, always following him around and yowling and meowing and spitting up a storm, always running off with his things. This one would be no different, no matter the age of it. 

He'd not have it in his camp, and Maxwell eyed the creature with obvious distaste.

Wilsons answer was nonchalant, still wholly focused on the catcoon, raising one clawed hand to wiggle slowly in front of its face. With a flick of its overlarge ear the creature stretched its neck and brushed its whiskers over his claws, eyes closing for a moment, and even from here Maxwell could hear it start to purr.

He swore, when it opened its eyes again, tiny paws batting at the scientists blackened claws, that it was looking at him and gloating.

About what he didn't know, and Maxwell grinded his teeth and tightened his hands about his arms. What he wouldn't give to strangle the damnable thing!

Grumbling darkly to himself, watching the beast flick it's overlarge tail and bump the top of its head against the other man's claws, Maxwell frown got even harsher.

And then he looked back at Wilson, just about ready to lecture him on having such a vile, conniving little creature in his camp, so close to his belongings, and ended up seeing his face instead.

It was a little surprising, and shocking, to see the man actually smile like that actually, and about a damn cat no less.

Maxwell floundered between glaring and frowning for a moment, settled on a confused grimace, and fought back the fluttering in his chest as quickly as possible.

So it's been awhile since he's seen the man smile. It wasn't a big deal, not at all.

And Wilson certainly didn't look much different from how he had looked last time Maxwell had seen him. Still all roughed up and unshaven and rough around the edges, that was for certain, perhaps a little bonier and underweight, which could be said the same for himself.

He was tanner though. And had a few more gray hairs this time around. And more of those wrinkles, around his eyes and mouth and forehead, the way his eyes were lit up and how he actually did seem to coo trumpets at the tiny creature in his arms, as if it was the cutest, most important and precious thing in the entire plane.

Universe, in fact. As if the damn cat was the best thing in the universe.

Maxwell was certainly not blushing, just a little warm in this humidity was all, and instead turned a glare at the cat.

Damn catcoon, and damn the fact that Wilson was so focused on it. How rude, and in his camp no less, and he certainly was not irked with the fact that it was making the other man smile in such a way.

Nope, he wasn't irritated at all.

Damn catcoon.

Wilson whistled more trumpet at him, lilting at the edges, and when he looked at him Maxwell had to quickly school his expression into one that was not as hateful as it had been. 

He ended up with just a normal scowl, still glowering, though Wilson didn't seem fazed at all. The man was certainly light hearted, tapping the tiny cats head with a careful claw, and smiling the entire time as he sung out trumpet song. Nothing that Maxwell could understand, though it seemed that it was just rambling, looking back down at the cat in his arms with almost awe.

Why the hell did a cat of all things make him look like that? It was just a vile catcoon, vermin, a thief in training, how the hell was it doing that?

Wilson bumped up next to him, shoulder against his arm as the man rambled trumpet at him, still petting the damnable creature. A space of silence followed, Wilson glancing up at him expectantly, and Maxwell locked gazes with him for a moment before looking away and hunching his shoulders, grumbling distorted sound in some sort of agreement as he ignored the way his face heated up.

The man was a warm, solid presence next to him, soft lulls of his quieter musical voice, but it was a shock to suddenly have the ball of grey striped fur be pressed into his arms.

Maxwell hissed out a surprised sound, hands scrambling to make sure he didn't drop it or get scratched, and its tiny, flexible paws gripped his suit sleeves tight, claws poking through the fabric as its head looked up at him, tail lashing.

He didn't think it liked him all that much, and Maxwell voiced that, voice rumbling out from his chest in discomfort, and then Wilson pressed up against him and raised his hand up to pet the tiny beast. 

It let out a tiny warble of a meow, spine moving under the other man's boney claws, eyes blinking slowly first at Wilson, and then up at him, finally settling in his obviously uncomfortable arms.

After a moment, Wilson still whistling out music, Maxwell loosened up his shoulders and inadvertently attempted to shift his arms about. The tiny catcoon swished its tail around and curled itself against his chest, held up in a better position now.

When it opened its tiny pink mouth and yawned, large eyes squeezing shut as it let out a tiny, high pitched meow, Wilson answered with a happy trumpet note, blackened claws rubbing its ears and sliding carefully through its grey striped fur.

It took a moment to even realize that the shorter man had circled his other arm around Maxwell and hugged around his side, keeping them pressed together even as Wilson cooed trumpet and leaned firmly against him. That fluttering feeling in his chest was back, and Maxwell stubbornly kept his gaze on the small catcoon in his arms, face heating up.

It was just the contact, of course, of being around someone after so long being on his own. It's just been awhile since he's seen Wilson, that was all.

It wasn't because he's been dreadfully lonely and wondering when the scientist would visit him again, not at all.

It certainly wasn't that, and he certainly wasn't a little grumpy and bitter still because it felt like he had been forgotten for so long. 

He certainly hadn't missed the man, not now that he has brought vermin into his camp to steal away with all his valuables.

Said vermin was purring quite loudly in his arms, against his chest, tiny claws kneading unevenly into his suit sleeves and gloves, and Wilson's talons pet it gently as the man hummed against him, fully leaning against him now. If the sturdier man hadn't started rocking, Maxwell was sure he'd have fallen over with all the extra weight.

Wilson wasn't a heavy man, but Maxwell wasn't good at balancing more than his own weight and he huffed out his own whistle of dim, deepened sound after a moment, feeling the other man lean his head against his shoulder. 

After a brief moment of internal debate, Maxwell shifted his arms and freed one hand, the other keeping the tiny catcoon undisturbed. With that Maxwell hesitantly lighted his hand on the small creatures head, its huge ears flicking for a moment as he smoothed its fur with his gloved hand. He couldn't feel it with his gloves on, but it was the thought that counted and its purr seemed to grow stronger against him.

Blackened claws found his leather gloved fingers, almost surprising him, and Wilson hummed even more muffled trumpet song, rocking calmly with him, Maxwell cradling the tiny catcoon with care as their hands entwined.

He mumbled quietly, a light strain in his duller musical voice, leaning his own weight briefly against the stouter man before getting his balance back, his own way of trying to get his thoughts across.

It's just been such a long while since he's seen the other man, such a long while.

He wouldn't dare admit, even to himself, that he had partially felt abandoned almost.

Looking down at the tiny catcoon, obviously having been found by Wilson so close to his camp, so far from the birchnut forests its kin lived in, Maxwell mused on the fact that it must have been alone for one reason or another. Perhaps it was a runt, or just weaker than its siblings, couldn't keep up.

Or perhaps it was just born at the wrong time, with not enough resources for its parents to live by. Left to itself, at such a young age, to starve or be eaten by something larger as it wandered.

For some reason, even knowing the dastardly things a catcoon would end up doing in his small, sodden camp, Maxwell carefully adjusted his arm to keep the creature close and safe against him, hand entwined with boney talons laid atop its small back. Its tail was curled around their hands, tip lighting atop its pink nose, and Maxwell heaved a sigh, a light whisper of musical noise seeping through for a moment, still not looking to the man pressed up against his side.

Wilson answered with a quieter, less heavy sound, claws giving his hand a light squeeze, and for a moment, Maxwell felt the oppressing air of this depressingly wet and sodden season lift.

Perhaps he'd not have to be alone for awhile. That would be nice, he thought vaguely, closing his eyes for a moment and feeling the small catcoon breath under his hand, feeling Wilson pressed up and leaning against his side.

That would be rather nice.


End file.
